


Little Broken Hearts

by TwoForATable (AliSimAlice)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Balancing motherhood and work, Extra-marital affairs, F/M, Feminism, Modern Families, Modern-day (2015), Multi, Multiple parent families, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 17:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4675211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliSimAlice/pseuds/TwoForATable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. 15 years after their marriages, Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Harry realize that the "One big happy Weasley family" was an illusion, a coping mechanism from right after the war, which for a long time pushed them apart from their true desires and forced them to create a large web of lies and resentments. But before it's too late, they need to turn things around. HHr</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Once again she held a crying Rose in her arms. A trip on the front steps of their home was all it took for a scraped knee, a little bit of blood, quite a bit of stinging and a whole lot of wanting to be cuddled.

"Hush now, Rosebud, Mum's already bandaged it, kissed it… Ssh, calm down." Hermione caressed her daughter's hair and gently rubbed her back, walking the floor of her kitchen back in forth, just as when she was an infant. "What if I told you a story, would you enjoy that?" Rose seamed to ponder for a moment and then eagerly nodded, her face hidden between the curve of her mother's neck and her golden-brown mane of curls. "Hmm, well let's see… Ah, yes. Once in a large city where buildings were so, so high they could reach the clouds, a huge celebration was being planned. Dancers and singers rehearsed, the mayor wrote his speech, the folk's people made plans and dressed up… Everyone in town had an invitation, all except for Harvey. Harvey was a little boy who lived on the highest apartment in the tallest building. Harvey's mother and father were out of town for work and he was very upset. Harvey's sister called him to play—no use. Harvey's nanny called him to eat—no budging. Not even to the park or the beach Harvey wanted to go."

"Not even the library?" Rose quietly asked and Hermione let out a chuckle.

"Not even the largest, most beautiful library in the world." Hermione grew tired of the pacing; Rose was growing and becoming more and more difficult for her to carry. So she took a seat on the kitchen table, with her daughter sitting on her lap. "Harvey's sister and nanny then decided to investigate the reason for Harvey's terrible mood. They questioned the neighbors and searched the entire street for clues. News spread that Harvey hadn't been invited and the people of the vicinity began to feel bad for him—so together, they began to prepare a very special one—an invitation so big that from the 500th floor where Harvey lived he would be able to see and read it. The invitations lit up with Christmas lights and sparkles. It was so beautifully colored that from afar it looked like a rainbow…"

"And what did Harvey do?"

"When Harvey looked out of his window, through his binoculars and saw that everyone had joined together to make him happy, he became thrilled and excited. Helicopters flew around, the cameras from the news stations catching the moment. All televisions showed the initiative. Harvey put on his best looking outfit and ran outside. He could barely contain himself of joy when he arrived on the street and he saw his parents waiting for him—Harvey had been missing them very much—everything was perfect and with smiles on their faces, everyone went to the big celebration. And that's it."

As Hermione looked at her daughter, she found her to be asleep. She smiled and caressed her golden curls, her rosy and ever soft cheeks. She kissed the eyelids that masked beneath them the prettiest of brown. There was no one she loved most in the world—even if she was now a half-hour late for her business trip.

How she wished she could stay more.

-/-

He watched from the window the entire ordeal. The cries of Rosie had called upon his attention—he'd just been back from a small flight on his broom. As he watched the quotidian interaction, he honestly wished he could've been there, inside that kitchen—with the two girls he loved the most. His eyes locked on her nimble hands—the perfect curve of her arm, the curls that fell past her shoulders. He knew by heart the soft, silky feel of them and that scent of vanilla and something else exclusively hers. He desperately wanted to capture her again in his arms—the woman he had always loved. If only they hadn't promised to give their affair a stop—for the sake of their long friendships and for the sake of their children.

-/-

She chopped, she baked, she seasoned, she stirred, she washed. The pattern of the everyday meal she had to set on the table. Her mother was still a very high standard that as much as she tried, couldn't reach. Once, many years ago, she had wished for this life. Married to the victor of their world; the mother to his children and heirs; wealthy, with all the finest clothes, jewelries and scents. With all the camera lenses pointed at her.

If she were to go back in time she would've locked herself up and tried to talk sense into her teenage mind. Make a life for yourself, don't depend on others for reputation and money, don't marry so young—don't this, don't that. The more she hated what her life had become—an endless routine of mothering and housekeeping and trying to keep her husband interested in her—even when she very well knew that his heart belonged elsewhere—the more she perpetuated the vicious pattern of her comfort zone.

During family luncheons, she would hear her sister-in-laws conversing about how they worked too much and strived to have more time with their children. Hermione especially, who not only worked but travelled a lot—throughout Europe, the Americas, Asia and even Africa. Hermione who's second home were several hotels scattered across the globe, who nearly every week left her daughter at home or with the girl's grandparents—and despite at all Rose adored and admired her mother.

Ginny's boys didn't think much of her. They loved her, yes, but she was always there, present—constantly doing and saying the same things. She wished they would adore and admire her as well.

-/-

Ron Weasley worked extra hours at the joke shop on purpose just so he didn't have to see her leave once more. Hermione had to work… Bull shit. She would flee from him every week—such was her guilt and most of all, their lack of love and affection. Tonight he had spent an hour more working on his prototype, a new and somewhat revolutionary wheeze that had been his main project for about a year. He glanced at the clock and knew that he should get home soon, that Rose would be dining with his sister and his mate, but needed him to tuck her in.

He wasn't stupid. Rose looked nothing like him—starting from the lack of freckles and ginger hair. But he loved her more than words. Rose was just about the only thing he had that in a way was inaccessible to Harry. At home and on her birth certificate—he was the father. To everyone else he was the father and Harry could never deny it without consequences—Ginny's pain, Hermione's rage and probably pain as well… Ron's own humiliation and his own as well—a coward who fathered a child he did not assume.

He knew of his mate's feelings for Hermione. He knew of their escapades—even if few and in moments of great need. He knew how they avoided each other in public, even among family, no eye contact, no touching—barely any speaking—only for them to do in private the complete opposite. He knew that when Hermione made love to him she thought of Harry—he was no saint, after a time he began not thinking of her as well. He knew that for a long time they would meet romantically and sexually—and in one of those meetings Rose had been created.

Ron knew and for a while he had been furious, jealous, felt humiliated. Only now, years later and knowing that in an attempt to secure their families Hermione and Harry had ended their affair—he didn't hate him, quite the opposite. He just felt tired, very tired. As if he weren't truly living his life. He loved Rose and for her he stayed, but honestly, he didn't know if he would be able to go on with this charade for too long.

He closed up shop and disapparated—transporting him to the front porch of the Potters.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny takes the first step further...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a reader pointed out to me how he had always shipped Harry and Hermione, but upon reading my story, he began to find them despicable. I tried to explain that the characters are all human, people who make mistakes (even tremendous ones) and can be reckless or selfish at times. Aren't we all. However, what I think is more important is how people's feelings are so complex that we are capable of great things. We do wrongs, but we regret them and try to make up for them; we can be generous and loving and caring. We can love even those we know caused us pain, because deep down, we know they are hurting too.
> 
> In my story there is no such thing as bashing. People have virtues and flaws and lives and that's it.
> 
> This chapter focuses on the rocky relationship between Ginny Weasley-Potter and Hermione, who despite it all nurture a sort of special bond. They are each other's only female friends and confidants and they with all of their awesome girl power will be a huge source of reflections on the modern-day woman, wife, mother, friend. The woman who many times in this patriarchal world seem to have to carry all on their own. Hermione and Ginny are almost complete opposites, but they somehow reflect us, the women of the real world.
> 
> I really hope you will love and embrace this.

She stood there for a long five minutes, hesitant to tap on the door. For family and camaraderie’s sake, she could’ve just walked inside. She looked around, worried that her boys and her husband would arrive soon and then completely ruin her resolve. As she stared down at the ‘welcome’ mat, she jumped in surprise as the door opened revealing an equally wide-eyed Hermione.

“Ginny! Is everything all right?” Ginny nodded quickly—too quickly for it to be okay. Hermione pulled her by the hand and inside her house. “Ron and Rose have gone to the joke shop—would you like some tea?” Ginny nodded, her cheeks were dark pink and she couldn’t yet figure out what to say. This was a novelty, even for her. “Come on, let’s go into the kitchen.”

Ginny followed her inside the cozy little room. The floor tiles were like a checker board and the varied colors of the utensils, towels, plates and seasonings scattered about, contrasted against the white of the counters and the neutral wooden tops. Hermione had put a lot of care and love into a room that she seldom used.

As the red muggle kettle whistled and they served themselves on the table, Ginny was thankful that Hermione was patient… That she wasn’t arrogant or mean like many other women could be—Hermione wasn’t perfect and Ginny knew of hers and Harry’s past liaisons, but her sister-in-law was a good person and genuine. And despite everything, Ginny could trust her and knew that genuinely, Hermione loved her. Perhaps this is why she had given up on Harry.

“I’m—I am deeply unsatisfied.” Hermione’s brows furrowed and she frowned, biting her lower lip. Nevertheless, she took Ginny’s left hand into both of hers and held it, reassuringly. “I felt I could only come to you. I’ve no sisters, you know that—and my mum, she would never understand…”

“That you don’t want to be like her. That you want to have a life outside of your family home, outside of your kitchen.” Ginny’s hazel eyes filled with unshed tears and her lips began to tremble. She let out a sob and Hermione shot up and embraced her, just as she would have done with Rose.

“I should hate you, Hermione, for ruining my marriage—for steeling my husband, for hurting my brother and I… but I can’t—I simply can’t.” The redhead held on to her for dear life, forgetting the tea, forgetting everything. “I can’t because I am to blame too… I did this to myself, I thought that I could wipe you from his heart and his mind—I blindly let my mum convince me that he would love me, love me once we took our vows, once we made love, once we had children. But I let her convince me that once all of these things happened, I would love him too.”

Hermione slightly pulled away from Ginny and tucked her crimson hair behind her ears. She wiped the tears off her cheeks—and she was silently crying too.

“Oh Ginny… How stupid we all were, how ignorant of our own feelings! Every day I pray Ginny, I pray to God that he’ll forgive me—forgive me for being selfish and reckless in my marriage, for being an absent mother, for being a sad excuse of a wife to Ronald. For betraying you most of all people, because you are my closest friend—because you are a woman just like me, living in a world ruled by men, who control us, who in some way or another want to contain us in our homes—enslaving us for their own benefit. I don’t want to hurt you anymore, I still don’t—It’s why I called it quits with Harry, it’s why I travel so much... It's why I try to keep myself away so that I won’t have to hurt any of you any further. You think I enjoy spending four days out of seven away from my daughter—my house, my parents and friends? The job is wonderful, pays well, I believe in the cause… But once I leave it—what then?”

“We are the perfect opposites then—I want what you have and you desire what I have. Is there not a way for us women to be happy, to be satisfied with our lives?” Hermione didn’t know how to answer.

“I’m yet to meet a woman who is.”

“Hermione—please help me, please help me to find something to do that I will love—a life outside of my house.”

\--/--

They sat there for hours, three pots of tea made and consumed. They cried some more and Hermione tried to advise Ginny as best as she could in what she could do to find a reasonable job—how she would probably have to seek higher education—how she could go about it and do something that interested and made her happy. Because Ginny deserved to be happy—and if she could help her do that—Hermione would have done at least something right to her.

“What makes you the happiest Ginny? What’s the one thing that you could go on and on about and never get tired of?”

“I—I’ve always loved fashion, Hermione. You may think it silly…” Hermione smiled brightly and shook her head.

“To be frank, the past years I’ve learned to appreciate it… I’ve been seeing far too many French films.” Ginny laughed so hard she threw her head back.

“I love them as well. You know, how Harry had a television installed for us with all of those channels and programs. They are all so marvelous—I watch the films over and over again, just to pay attention to all the colors, all of the outfits and hairstyles and the make-up…”

“I think I know just the person for you to contact—if you like we can go and visit her together.”

“Who, Hermione?”

“I’ve a cousin who lives in Italy, Cora, she is a fashion stylist and owns her own atelier. She’s worked for television shows, plays and films before—maybe she could give you some tips or even hire you as an intern.” Ginny blushed profusely.

“But I have no experience!”

“Nor did she! Cora graduated in tourism.” Ginny was surprised and laughed.

“Can you draw or sew, Gin?” The redhead nodded.

“I’ve done a few things. Would she mind if I’m a witch—does she know?” Hermione frowned.

“That’s a whole other story…” Hermione’s brows were once more furrowed; she would have to plan this out very carefully.

\--/--

At precisely that moment, Ron and Rose arrived with a smile on their faces—Rosie had a bag full of new wheezes and gadgets.

“Oy, Gin… What are the lot of you up to?” Ginny turned to Hermione and smiled conspiratorially.

“Just catching up Ron—it’s good to get rid of the men and the kids once in a while and just chat. Is it not, Hermione?” The curly haired witch nodded and hugged her daughter who had launched herself into her arms. “I should go home now—it’s getting to be late. Thank you Hermione.”

“No, thank you, Ginny.”

\--/--

Ginny lay in her bed that night with a wide smile on her face. Her boys were bathed, dined and fast asleep in the bedroom across the hall and her husband as well. For a long time she hadn’t felt this way—as if a huge weight had fallen off her shoulders and finally, finally, hopeful. Why she hadn’t used Hermione’s guilt for her own advantage before was beyond her, but it was good to know that Hermione genuinely supported her and would help her. Somehow she felt the same kind of reassurance wouldn’t come from her mother… And Harry, he would never object.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and reviews are some extraordinary proofs of love! Just sayin'...


	3. Chapter 3

Harry sat with Rose on the front porch of his house, James and Albus were chasing each other around the yard—it was a sunny day with white fluffy clouds and just a slight cool wind—a reminder that autumn was just around the corner. Rose had been tired of running—she was the youngest of the children. She watched her cousins playing in silence for a while and then turned to Harry.

“Mum said not to call you Uncle Harry, but to call Aunt Ginny aunt.”

“Is that so?” Rosie nodded. Harry watched as she played with the hem of her summer dress. “And how do you feel about that, Rosalie?”

She grinned at the sound of his special pet name for her.

“I don’t mind. Do you have aunts and uncles? I have lots on the Weasley side… But you know that.” Harry chuckled and nodded.

“Actually I have an Aunt Petunia—she is my mother’s sister… I lived with her when I was a boy.” Rose stared up at him and furrowed her eyebrows, just like her mother would do.

“My Mum told me yours died when you were a baby. I’m sorry. I would be very sad if mine died.” Harry pulled the little girl into his arms and kissed her golden-brown curls. “Was your Aunt Petunia nice?” Harry didn’t know how to explain it to her, so much had changed with the years…

“Aunt Petunia was the opposite of nice—and her husband and my cousin Dudley hurt me a lot growing up—I slept in a cupboard below the stairs.” Rose jumped out of his arm outraged.

“So they were mean to you!” She flung herself into his arms and hugged him, nuzzling her head at the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry you didn’t have an aunt as nice as you are with me. And Aunt Ginny. You must have been sad sometimes…”

“I was, but one day I left for Hogwarts and met Ron and your mother—and then I was happy I had friends who loved me and I loved them.” Rose nodded and moments later let out a loud sneeze. “But you know what Rosalie, my Aunt Petunia isn’t so mean anymore—she even calls me on Christmas and on my birthday. People can change for the better or for the worst in life. Sometimes we do things that later on we regret. I forgave Aunt Petunia and my cousin Dudley and today we are all much happier.”

“I’d like to meet your Aunt Petunia, Harry.” He caressed her hair and ran his hand gently up and down her arm.

“I would like for you to meet her as well, Rose.”

\--/--

The following week, Ron showed Harry inside his office at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. He was excited to know his brother-in-law his newest invention, before his meeting with possible investors in the evening. Harry watched as Ron showed him the gadget and demonstrated—it was much more than just a toy, it was a sort of mouse that changed color according to each person’s mood and that would light up and play music or propose a game or tell a story, depending on the person’s needs. It was great for parents with children, as it combined pleasure and education.

The toy was a success and Harry couldn’t be more proud of Ron’s hard work. He knew that for Ron it was a lot harder to find motivation and get out of his comfort zone and do something.

“What inspired you for this?”

“Rosie. Sometimes I just can’t tell what she’s feeling like… and also because lots of time she is alone. You know, only child and all… When Hermione or I need a break, I thought it would come in handy. The other day I brought her here to test it—it worked, she loved it. I just thought, ‘oy, I finally did something right, I finally succeeded’.” Harry patted him on the back and Ron had unshed tears in his eyes… Harry knew.

“She’s a very special girl.” Ron nodded.

“She’s our special girl Harry—I love her a lot.”

“What are you naming the toy?”

“Rose suggested Aunt Tunia… You know something about that?” Harry was completely surprised.

“Last week she asked me about my aunt.” Ron chuckled and nodded.

“I’m thinking of adapting it to Auntie Mouse, what do you think?”

“I think it sounds a lot better.”

\--/--

“Good luck at your big meeting, Ron, Draco, Neville and I will meet you at the pub later!” Ron waved good bye and both men parted ways.

\--/--

It was half-past midnight when Ron Weasley as quietly as possible entered his bedroom. Hermione sat up on the bed reading and once she saw him she got up to congratulate her husband.

“Ron, I’m so very proud of you, honestly. You came up with a wonderful toy and very soon all the major stores will be selling it and all of Rosie’s friends will have one… Really, you deserved this—you worked so hard.” Ron accepted her tight hug—one thing that didn’t change about her. Hermione kissed him on the cheek and stood at the tip of her toes to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“I—I did it thinking of Rose. I just wanted her to be proud of her father.” Hermione smiled, her cinnamon-colored eyes wet with tears. “Thanks, ‘Mione, it means a great deal…”

“You’re the best father Ron.”

\--/--

The next day was a Sunday and Hermione had invited their closest friends and the Weasley’s to celebrate Ron’s success. In one month, the Auntie Mouse toy would be the talk of the parents and children of Wizarding England… and perhaps Europe.

She spent the entire day with her mother who had driven all the way from London cooking and catching up. Molly would bring some foods as well and Ginny had promised to bake a couple of apple and chocolate pies.

Rose and her cousins played in the yard, James, the eldest, the most protective of her and Albus, a year and a half older, taking turns being the monkey in the middle. Ron was busy mounting a swimming pool for the children along with George and his smile couldn’t be wider. Today was his day—he hadn’t felt this proud of himself since the end of the war—perhaps even a bit more considering the dark and gloomy first few years after.

He was all smiles, laughs and joking around—even Hermione relaxed more and took a few days off of work to be with the family. But still, he had a deep inkling, that for a while this would be the last time their family would be united—the Weasley’s, the Potter’s and the Granger’s.

\--/--

The last guests had left their home at about 8 pm and an exhausted Hermione went out to sit in the peace and quiet of her porch. Her mother had pampered her and Rose all day—she loved it when they could spend time together—especially since Hermione’s father passed away. Rosie loved having her grandma around and Helena Granger was deeply considering moving in to Hermione and Ron’s guest bedroom, even if just for a while to help with little Rose… and to not be so lonely anymore.

Ron and Draco had followed George, Neville and Bill to their favorite pub for a few drinks and Ginny and the boys had gone to spend the last week before school began at the Burrow with Molly and Arthur.

Hermione gazed up at the stars, taking pleasure in the cool wind that hit her cheeks. She could sense him approaching—she could feel him from miles away.

Harry sat with her on the porch swing in companionable silence; neither of them had bothered to turn on the lights. His hand reached for hers and she let him. Her fingers laced perfectly with his and she was content.

“I miss you.” He whispered and kissed that special spot bellow her ear that she loved.

“I miss you too.”


End file.
